Friday, March 6, 2009


One of the unique properties of being a working man is the daily commute to work. I go by bike, train and foot. And nothing is more enjoyable then playing railway roulette.
The one bullet in the gun is the pretty girl that sits in front front of you and smiles back. Or that casts the one, not so innocent glimpse when she is about to turn her head.

On my ride home today I sat down in a two by two compartment. While unshouldering my rainstained black leather bag, I turn and look up into the pink face of prudence. She must have been about 72 years old, scrubbed and wrinkled. Very dignified. I could imagine she has her milk and coffee in see-through porcelain cups with her pinky doing the Heil Hitler salute.
The word that surfaced out of the murky depths of my brain was "chicken", brooding right in front of me. And for someone reading a recreational magazine, she didn't seem much entertained.
Her mouth so downturned there isn't enough skin below the chin for a smile. It looked very much like she had a ventriloquist dummy mouth installed.
How did this come to be, I asked myself as I have time and time again. It must be all the prudence, I replied.
The gun clicked.

On the next stop, I had another shot. The mass of bodies moved off and on the train. Fresh air gushed into the cabine. And with it unanswered questions.
Like "Why is there a monkey next to me, shoving bananas into it's mouth?" I could see it out of the corners of my left eye. I saw a shape swinging a big hand in the air, the trajectory ending at an open maw, which closed on something sloppy and oker. The hand returned to it's lap, while the maw was winking it's delicious content at me.
After I unfroze, I risked a quick glance at this percieved reality. It wasn't quite as imaginative as I had imagined, but still rather shocking.
A button-nosed girl was fisting one waffle after another into her chubby face. Unapologetically and openly mauling the dough in her mouth as if she was mixing concrete in it. The guy opposite to her could propably smell the taste of the sweet salive-waffle paste.
The gun clicked.

We can't win them all. But it just goes to show that life's little frustrations can add much to one's creativity.

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